


Trust and Control

by WeirdLittleStories



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: BDSM, Biting, Dom!Spock, Dominance/submission, F/M, Rough Sex, Sub!Uhura, Telepathy, Vulcan sexuality
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2017-12-22 05:25:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/909425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeirdLittleStories/pseuds/WeirdLittleStories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock and Uhura play with themes of dominance and submission as Uhura reflects on their games together and hopes for something special during shore leave.  </p><p>In Chapter 2, Uhura reflects on how their play started out ... and how Spock moved them in a different direction, a direction that will eventually get them to the place they're planning to go on shore leave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. I usually think in the TOS universe, so I'm thinking very specifically of the Uhura who [sang that song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3B4lsvrzfZI) to Spock in "Charlie X" and of the Uhura who tried to flirt with Spock in "The Man Trap" by saying, "Tell me how your planet Vulcan looks on a lazy evening when the moon is full," only to be told "Vulcan has no moon." But if you prefer reboot Spock/Uhura, this might work with them, too, though that Spock doesn't have quite the control that TOS Spock has.
> 
> 2\. Since Spock is an honorable man, I'm assuming that this story takes place after his divorce from T'Pring in "Amok Time," but perhaps not very _long_ after that. ;-)
> 
> 3\. Star Trek belongs to Paramount (legally) and Gene Roddenberry, Gene Coon, Dorothy Fontana, and Bob Justman (morally). I'm just borrowing the characters for a moment, since they seem to have taken up residence in my strange little mind. :-)

* * *

 

Spock could really hurt her, Nyota knows, if he ever lost it. Not that he ever would. His control is legendary; there are moments when the fate of the entire ship rests on it, and he has never let them down. But _if._ If he ever lost control, he could really hurt her. And that's part of the thrill. It's not that she actually wants him to really hurt her, because she doesn't. Mostly. The sane part of her doesn't want him to really hurt her, and not just for her sake, but also for his. But the edge of danger — danger she will almost certainly never actually face — that edge calls her, thrills her. _Almost_ certainly she will never face that danger — "almost," there's another word, like "if," that tantalizes her.  
  
Spock needs his control, to function properly, to feel Vulcan, to be who he is. She knows it cost the child Spock so much to gain that control, and she knows that even today, it is not as effortless as he makes it appear. She knows he loves his control — more, probably, than he loves her — almost defines himself by it, as if his control and his identity are one. But she also knows some tiny part of him is tired of it, wishes he could drop it, wishes that being the perfect Vulcan required no effort. That part of him is very tiny — tinier, perhaps, even than the small part of her that wishes he would really hurt her — but tiny is so very different from nonexistent. He wouldn't value his perfect Vulcanness so much, perhaps, if it actually required no effort. But all people are complicated, and this half-human, half-Vulcan hybrid may be the most complicated she has ever met. It's part of why he fascinates and enthralls her.  
  
She isn't completely certain why he likes the game as much as he does. She'd feared at first that he was only playing it to humor her, but as time went on, it became quite clear that he was not, that the game calls to him as much as to her, although he had needed for her to be the one to suggest it. And so they play this game, the one where they dance along the edges of his control, the one where they tantalize each other with the fear — or is it the hope? — that he will lose that control and really hurt her.  
  
Vulcan possessiveness seems to feed the game, but the primary fuel is Vulcan passion. Most people think "Vulcan passion" is an oxymoron, or maybe something cold and rational that Vulcans apply to science. But she knows that Vulcan passion is down there, buried deep in his psyche like lava beneath a mostly-dormant volcano, but present enough to warm her when she's close, present enough to scorch her if she dares to get close enough. But it's the possibility of an eruption that fascinates her. She doesn't want to be immolated in lava, not actually, not really. But the possibility, the _if_  — she needs that to be there. And to have all that passion actually directed at her ... it might be worth being really hurt, if she could see that, could feel that, just once. And she knows he is aware that she feels this way, knows that this attitude from her is part of what picks at his control, loosens it, makes the danger go from nearly nonexistent to simply improbable. If he ever does lose it, will it be her fault?  
  
There are other places — safer places — where she could exercise her skill at communications, just as there are other places where Spock could make observations and conduct experiments. But they're both on the _Enterprise,_ not just because they're the best, but because they're explorers, and the unknown calls to them. She doesn't want anything bad to happen to the _Enterprise,_ in the same way that she doesn't want him to really hurt her, but they wouldn't be having an adventure unless there were some risk. Picking herself up from the floor of the bridge once every month or two reminds her that it IS an adventure, that she's not pulling in messages from the next planet over but from unknown aliens, from ships in trouble, from things so strange that it's not clear if they're even alive. So maybe that's why they're both into the game, because they wouldn't be on the ship in the first place unless they wanted that adventure, that edge.  
  
They had started out playing like humans, with rules and limits and safewords all carefully spelled out. But when your partner can read your thoughts and feelings simply by brushing your skin, the external controls aren't just unnecessary; they become a distraction, an annoyance. She doesn't really need a safeword because Spock will always know exactly how close she is to the place where strong sensation becomes bad pain, to the place where voluntarily giving up control becomes feeling like an actual victim, to the place where what they're doing crosses the line from thrilling to too much. Knowing intellectually that she's safer trusting to Spock's ability to read her than she would be to her own ability to call safeword doesn't alter the emotional reality that giving up those external controls _feels_ dangerous. And Spock seems to understand that, more than she thought he would. Spock understands a lot of things better than she'd thought he would.  But then, understanding and knowing are what Spock does, very nearly who he is.  
  
Today's game will be different from their usual, because they're on shore leave. They've rented a cabin in the woods, a stretch of forest that's all theirs for the week, and this will be different from presenting herself at his quarters at 20:00 and leaving by 22:00 so that they can both be adequately rested for duty the next day. It's different from his having to be extremely careful about what he does to her delicate human body, because she needs to be able to give the captain peak performance the next day. She's asked him to go farther than he usually takes them, now that they have a week off, and the careful blankness that greeted her request was better than a growl would have been from another man. He's excited enough by her request that he had to hold tightly to his emotionless Vulcan mask, and she can't wait for the game to start.  
  
She didn't want to know when exactly it would begin, had asked that he simply start when he was ready. She'd thought that would be a nice change from the regulated life they led on the ship. And now she's spent the morning walking in the forest, admiring the foliage, listening to the birds, and alternating between trying not to think about this game they play and being unable to think of anything else. Of course he wouldn't take her the instant they got to the cabin, of course he'd want to draw out the anticipation, make her wonder when they'd begin, throw her a little off balance. She'd asked to give up control, after all, asked to be played like a Vulcan lyre, and she needed to let him do things his way. A dominant Spock was so insanely hot that giving up control was no hardship, except for now, while she was waiting. "Soon," she thought, "Let it be soon!"  
  
  
********************************************************  



	2. What has gone before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Spock and Nyota first started playing with D/S, Spock used a very formal style. This formalism fit so well with his Vulcan nature that it was rather a surprise when he began to branch out and incorporate other elements into their play...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter has been so long in coming! I have a chronic illness that greatly limits me, and there are a lot of days when I can't write at all, and a lot of other days when I can only write very simple fluff. I do intend to finish every story that I start ... eventually. Thanks for your patience.

Four months previously:   
  
  
When Spock and Nyota first began to experiment with dominance and submission, their play style was exquisitely formal, very nearly mannered. Spock began each session by collaring her with some ceremony and formally ended a session by removing her collar. He gave her precise verbal commands and required explicit acknowledgment of each command and her compliance with it. He taught her to kneel gracefully, to orgasm only when given permission, and to follow a long list of rules and restrictions while collared. Her self-control improved greatly under his tutelage — as one might expect from submission to a Vulcan — and she found the structured approach comforting, as she always knew how to please him, how to obey him, and how to succeed in her submissive role.  
  
Still, Nyota found herself longing for a more spontaneous style, even as she guessed that such a style might be beyond her careful and controlled Vulcan dominant. And while she enjoyed being the focus of Spock's attention and delighted in all of the marvelous sensations he created in her body, she wished that she could truly _serve_ him, could give him something beyond the small amount he allowed himself to take from her. He was so very careful with her delicate human body that she sometimes wondered how she appeared to him, wondered if to a Vulcan, humans seemed made of tissue paper.  
  
And his eyes ... what emotion Spock permitted himself was rarely visible on the rest of his face, but she could always read it in his eyes. She had seen affection in his eyes, along with amusement, appreciation, and occasional hints of lust. She knew that he liked her as a person, that he found her pretty, and that he enjoyed their activities, but it was clear that he was not deeply affected by what they did. She understood that Vulcans weren't supposed to be deeply affected by much of anything and had thought that she accepted Spock's Vulcan nature, but the longer they played, the more she wanted to see passion, fervor, intensity in Spock's eyes. To her, playing with dominance and submission was partly about a quest for intensity, and she didn't want to be the only one swimming in the deep end of the pool. She wanted him to be deeply affected by what they did, and if that would require more of her, so be it; she would give whatever she had to, to get some intensity from Spock.

* * *

  
Today she reports to his quarters precisely on the dot of 20:00 and is surprised to find herself seized, carried across the room, and thrown down on his bunk. Spock grabs her by the hair, turns her face toward his and gazes fiercely into her eyes as he orders, "Strip. Now."  
  
She's so turned on by the change in him that she has trouble working the fastener on her dress. And while the formal Spock would have imposed a certain number of demerits for clumsiness, this new Spock says, "You should use greater speed if you wish to keep that dress. You have thirty seconds before I rip it off of you."  
  
She swallows and works faster, succeeding in removing her dress just ahead of the deadline. Once she's naked, he grabs her by the hair again and turns her face towards his, staring intently into her eyes. "I wish to use a different approach tonight, one with fewer rules and more ferocity. If you consent, say 'Yes, Spock,' but be aware that this is the last time tonight that I will ask for your permission or consent. If you do not consent, say, "No, Master,' and I will fetch your collar, and we will return to our usual formality."  
  
She isn't entirely sure what she's getting herself into, but she's sure that whatever it is, it's closer to what she's been craving than what they've been doing. She looks back into that fierce glare and finds herself melting under the intensity of his gaze. "Oh, YES, Spock," she says, putting as much encouragement as she dares into the vehemence of her consent, and she sees amusement in Spock's eyes before that expression is swallowed up by the sudden fire in his eyes as he tilts her head to one side and bites her at the junction of her neck and shoulder.  
  
She moans and murmurs, "Yes, Spock" again as he continues to bite and suck at the same place on her neck. He builds the sensation expertly, continually increasing the pressure, yet at any given moment, he's biting her just exactly as hard as she can stand without safewording. Her arousal and the strength of his bites rise in tandem, both ratcheting ever higher as he continues biting her, sinking his teeth deeply into her neck as her arousal rises high enough to permit deep, hard biting. By the time he breaks the skin, she's nearly sobbing, both her arousal and her pain so intense that she isn't sure where one ends and the other begins.  
  
He lifts his head from her neck to give her a short break, and she breathes deeply, unable to tear her eyes away from the sight of his face, which looks more alien than usual in the red light of his quarters and more uncivilized than she'd believed possible with her blood on his lips.  
  
As Spock licks her blood from his lips, she whispers, "I know my blood is the wrong color for a Vulcan. I hope it doesn't taste bad?"  
  
His voice is deeper than she's ever heard it as he says, "Your blood tastes so deliciously exotic that I must work to restrain myself from taking too much of it."  
  
She shudders, and he strokes her cheek with his fingers. "You are not shuddering in fear," he says, a statement, rather than a question.  
  
"No," she whispers. "I find a Spock who has to actually _work_ to restrain himself with me to be an incredible turn on."  
  
He inhales sharply. "Your reaction to being bitten is very arousing. Biting is an integral part of Vulcan sexuality, but I had believed that humans would find the severity of Vulcan biting to be ... disquieting."  
  
Nyota smiles. "I've always enjoyed biting more than the average human, though I must admit that being bitten by _you_ is more exciting than anything I've done before."  
  
He inhales sharply again, and then her head is tilted to the other side and he's biting the side of her neck that is as yet unmarked. He bites her hard, just slightly less than _too_ hard, sucking at her neck and increasing the intensity in exact parallel with her arousal. She moans more loudly with every increase in intensity, until she's very nearly screaming, yet screaming in arousal rather than in pain. She would have been embarrassed by the display she's putting on if she'd had any attention to spare for anything but the amazing sensations in her neck, in her cunt ... and in her heart.  
  
Spock pulls back, looks into her eyes, and says, "I believe you are on the verge. Tonight you have my permission to come whenever you wish." He reapplies his mouth to her neck and bites her again, grinding his teeth into the bruise on her neck in exactly the right way to spike her arousal, and she bucks and shudders under his bite, finally coming with a loud wail and a gush of wetness between her legs. Spock continues to bite her until she's finished, then pushes her legs apart and plunges into her. She gasps as he enters her, his entry faster and less controlled than usual, and she moans loudly as he thrusts into her with more force than he usually permits himself.  
  
"Yes, Spock," she says, "Come ON, I can take it," and he rams himself into her hard enough to hurt, and it's perfect and exactly what she wants. He pounds into her with more than human strength, and she rakes her nails down his back, scratching hard enough to leave green streaks on his back, which he takes as encouragement, hammering into her harder still.  
  
She can tell that he's still holding back, and for the first time ever, she's glad of it. If this is Spock at half strength, Spock at full strength would be honestly dangerous. Perhaps his control is not as excessive or as unnecessary as she'd believed. Still, he's loosened that control more than he'd ever done before with her, and this level right now is glorious — more than she could get from a human lover but not so much as to require a visit to Sickbay. And more even than the physical sensation is the honor of being one of the few who gets to see Spock with his controls loosened, a slightly less civilized, slightly less polite Spock, a Spock who reminds her that Vulcans, too, started out as animals.  
  
It takes very few of Spock's gloriously hard thrusts before she's coming again, and as she tightens down around him, he comes too. Spock usually came with a soft, barely audible sigh, but this time he grunts softly as he comes, and getting any vocalization at all from him is as good as a scream from another man.  
  
He rolls off of her and onto his back, pulling her over to him, where she pillows her head on his shoulder, drapes an arm over his chest, and intertwines her legs with his. He cups her cheek with his hand and asks, "Nyota, what is your condition?"  
  
She tilts her head to smile up at him and says, "Sugah, my condition is _amazing._ I may never walk again, but I'm not sure I want to."  
  
Spock correctly parses this latter bit as hyperbole intended to be laudatory. "You find this less formal style desirable?"  
  
"I find this less formal style incredibly fucking hot!" She props herself up on one elbow and looks into his eyes, not sure what she's seeing there. "But I'm not the only one whose opinion matters. How was this for you?"  
  
"This comes closer to normal Vulcan sexuality than our previous activities, so I found tonight's interactions considerably more satisfying. You had said, however, that you were interested in dominance, and I am not certain that I gave you much of that tonight."  
  
Nyota laughs. "I'm not sure what name to assign to what you did tonight, but I loved it. It isn't wearing a collar or calling you 'Master' that does it for me, anyway; what I really want is to be controlled by you, to have you calling the shots and taking what you want."  
  
"Ah. I thought that I had picked up as much from my readings of your emotions, but I wished to have verbal confirmation, since this is an area where a misunderstanding could be disastrous."  
  
She smiles. "If what you did tonight is something you figured out from brief telepathic flashes, your telepathy is working just great. You have my consent — more than that, my _encouragement_ — to continue in this direction next time."  
  
  
And that was the beginning of a new direction for their D/S games, a direction that was to lead them ever further towards a place where both of them wanted to go, even as each of them feared that it would be asking too much of the other to go there. But they would get there eventually.  
  


 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
